two fingers of each hand onto the heart-shaped wooden pointer. It was a tight fit.
Someone giggled.
“Shhh!” Jumbo said. “Show the spirits some respect.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “O spirits,” she said, “we bid you come among us.”
There was a nervous silence.
“O spirits,” she repeated, her voice a tone higher, “we bid you come among us.”
I remembered from my sisters’ use of the Ouija board that, like the characters in fairy tales, the spirits needed to be told everything three times.
I could easily relate to that.
“O spirits,” Jumbo said again, this time in a whisper, “we bid you come among us.”
Something electric was in the air. The hair at the back of my neck was already standing on end as it did when, in my laboratory, I rubbed an ebonite rod on my woolen jumper and waved it behind my head.
“Is someone here?”
With startling speed, the cursor jerked to life and began to slide. Across the board it flew, without the slightest hesitation, and stopped at “Yes.”
Jumbo had opened her eyes to take a reading. “Who are you?” she asked in a conversational tone.
There was no reply and she repeated her question two more times.
Now the cursor was on the move again, sliding silkily to and fro across the board’s smooth surface, picking out letters, one by one, pausing only briefly at each before moving on to the next.
D—A—R—K—H—E—R—E, it spelled out.
“We understand,” Jumbo said, snapping her fingers. “We light a light for you.”
Snap!
She had obviously done this sort of thing before.
“Is that better?”
The cursor scurried across the board and stopped at the word “YES.”
“Do you have a message for someone here?”
“YES.”
For just an instant, my blood ran cold. Could this be the ghost of my mother, Harriet? She had, after all, once been a student at Miss Bodycote’s. Perhaps a part of her was attached to the place forever.
In truth, I hoped it wasn’t Harriet. I had received from her once before a message from beyond the grave: a message telling me that she was cold and wanted to come home.
I didn’t think that I could bear another.
Please don’t let it be Harriet!
As uncharitable as that might seem.
Get a grip, Flavia!
I thought, and not for the first time.
“Who are you?” Jumbo asked, three times and slowly. “What is your name?”
It came in a rush. The pointer scuttled back and forth across the board like a panicked lobster.
L—E—M—A—R—C—H—A—N—D
Gremly, who had been writing down the results with the stub of a lead pencil, gasped. “Le Marchand!” she cried.
It was the name of one of the girls who, according to Collingwood, had gone missing from Miss Bodycote’s.
I looked round the circle of blanched faces. It was obvious from their haunted eyes that each one of them had already made the connection.
“Oh, my God!” someone whispered.
I have to give Jumbo credit. She was on to it like a terrier on a rat.
“We are prepared for your message.”
I noticed that even at a moment so tense as this, Jumbo spoke to the spirit in a grammatically correct manner. Again, she repeated her words three times.
The pointer fairly flew across the board.
O—N—E—O—F—Y—O—U—K—N—O—W—S—M—Y—K—I—L—L—E—R
“One of you knows my killer!” Gremly gasped, reading aloud the words she had just scribbled down.
With a sweep of her hand, the tiny blonde across from me sent the planchette flying to the far corner of the room.
“Enough!” she said. “This is stupid.”
“Steady on, Trout,” Jumbo said. “If you’ve busted the thing, it’s coming out of your pocket money.”
Trout. So that was her name.
I looked round the circle.
One of the girls—on my left—had made a puddle.
• EIGHT •
A NYONE WHO HAS EVER played with a Ouija board has pushed.
I can practically guarantee it.
Let’s admit it: You’ve pushed, I’ve pushed—everyone has
Someone giggled.
“Shhh!” Jumbo said. “Show the spirits some respect.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “O spirits,” she said, “we bid you come among us.”
There was a nervous silence.
“O spirits,” she repeated, her voice a tone higher, “we bid you come among us.”
I remembered from my sisters’ use of the Ouija board that, like the characters in fairy tales, the spirits needed to be told everything three times.
I could easily relate to that.
“O spirits,” Jumbo said again, this time in a whisper, “we bid you come among us.”
Something electric was in the air. The hair at the back of my neck was already standing on end as it did when, in my laboratory, I rubbed an ebonite rod on my woolen jumper and waved it behind my head.
“Is someone here?”
With startling speed, the cursor jerked to life and began to slide. Across the board it flew, without the slightest hesitation, and stopped at “Yes.”
Jumbo had opened her eyes to take a reading. “Who are you?” she asked in a conversational tone.
There was no reply and she repeated her question two more times.
Now the cursor was on the move again, sliding silkily to and fro across the board’s smooth surface, picking out letters, one by one, pausing only briefly at each before moving on to the next.
D—A—R—K—H—E—R—E, it spelled out.
“We understand,” Jumbo said, snapping her fingers. “We light a light for you.”
Snap!
She had obviously done this sort of thing before.
“Is that better?”
The cursor scurried across the board and stopped at the word “YES.”
“Do you have a message for someone here?”
“YES.”
For just an instant, my blood ran cold. Could this be the ghost of my mother, Harriet? She had, after all, once been a student at Miss Bodycote’s. Perhaps a part of her was attached to the place forever.
In truth, I hoped it wasn’t Harriet. I had received from her once before a message from beyond the grave: a message telling me that she was cold and wanted to come home.
I didn’t think that I could bear another.
Please don’t let it be Harriet!
As uncharitable as that might seem.
Get a grip, Flavia!
I thought, and not for the first time.
“Who are you?” Jumbo asked, three times and slowly. “What is your name?”
It came in a rush. The pointer scuttled back and forth across the board like a panicked lobster.
L—E—M—A—R—C—H—A—N—D
Gremly, who had been writing down the results with the stub of a lead pencil, gasped. “Le Marchand!” she cried.
It was the name of one of the girls who, according to Collingwood, had gone missing from Miss Bodycote’s.
I looked round the circle of blanched faces. It was obvious from their haunted eyes that each one of them had already made the connection.
“Oh, my God!” someone whispered.
I have to give Jumbo credit. She was on to it like a terrier on a rat.
“We are prepared for your message.”
I noticed that even at a moment so tense as this, Jumbo spoke to the spirit in a grammatically correct manner. Again, she repeated her words three times.
The pointer fairly flew across the board.
O—N—E—O—F—Y—O—U—K—N—O—W—S—M—Y—K—I—L—L—E—R
“One of you knows my killer!” Gremly gasped, reading aloud the words she had just scribbled down.
With a sweep of her hand, the tiny blonde across from me sent the planchette flying to the far corner of the room.
“Enough!” she said. “This is stupid.”
“Steady on, Trout,” Jumbo said. “If you’ve busted the thing, it’s coming out of your pocket money.”
Trout. So that was her name.
I looked round the circle.
One of the girls—on my left—had made a puddle.
• EIGHT •
A NYONE WHO HAS EVER played with a Ouija board has pushed.
I can practically guarantee it.
Let’s admit it: You’ve pushed, I’ve pushed—everyone has
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